


Rebound

by Wireslide



Series: Fifty Ships [6]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Almost everything I write with Lance has some praise kink, Daddy Kink, Lance gets weird, M/M, Praise Kink, Shiro pretends Lance is Keith, The whole thing is messed up okay, character death mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-09-16 20:26:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16960923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wireslide/pseuds/Wireslide
Summary: Shiro hasn't been able to function since they received word of Keith's death. Lance tries to help.





	Rebound

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written as part of a 50-50 challenge.
> 
> If you're reading all the 'Fifty Ships' series you might notice that they sort of fit together, but are chronologically out of order. This is intentional; they take place in the same universe. Chronologically speaking almost all of the 49 prompts after 'Can't Get To Sleep' take place before it.

Lance sank down next to him on the couch, wrapped in the fluffy blue robe he'd dug out of some closet with a giant bowl of something salty and lightly baked in the curve of one elbow. They sat there for a long moment before Lance offered the bowl to Shiro, who took one of the treats inside and ate it mechanically. It wasn't until after he'd swallowed that Lance offered him a sipper full of juice, which he also imbibed out of habit. They repeated this several times before the snack that was offered was some kind of protein slice, presumably bean or insect, and Shiro ate those with the same measured lack of attention. Once Shiro was settled into the rhythm of eating, Lance slid to the floor to begin undoing the laces on his boots, frowning in concentration, and only looked up when Shiro laid a hand on his hair.

“They zip,” he told the younger man quietly, turning his foot out to give Lance access. He returned to mechanically feeding himself, paying very little attention to the Cuban pulling off his boots and socks and sliding the soft, furry purple lion slippers over his toes.

Task done, Lance returned to his spot at Shiro's side, curling up under his arm when the black paladin automatically lifted it. He set his face against Shiro's chest, breathing in his scent and the faint smell of blood that hadn't quite been washed away yet. The question bubbled up in him and out of his mouth before he could suppress it; he felt Shiro flinch and recoil at the words. “He's not coming back, is he?”

“Not like Regris,” Shiro couldn't keep the bitterness out of his tone, couldn't find a way to let it out of his soul. He couldn't grasp a world where Regris, bright and loyal though he was, could be chosen by some all-mighty Galra deity to come back from death, and Keith, sweet, fierce, socially inept Keith, could not. It had been weeks, and Shiro couldn't stop holding his breath. He turned his head to put his face in Lance's hair, but he couldn't find enough emotion to produce tears. He was still in shock, Allura had told him for the past two weeks, the feelings would come.

Shiro had his doubts.

“It'd be weird, anyway,” Lance muttered, hand going to his collarbone for a crucifix Hunk had long ago stopped reminding him he no longer wore. “Right?” He looked up at Shiro for reassurance, but the black paladin had none to offer. “Shiro?”

“I'm here,” like all of his other actions so far, the answer was automatic, though he did bend his arm to bury his fingers in Lance's hair. The texture soothed him; he'd spent so much time since Keith's death touching Lance's hair that he vaguely remembered Hunk making an awkward half-joke about claiming territory. Pidge's laugh had felt like spiders on a hotplate over his nerves. The muted callback was all that Shiro could muster; he only ate when directed and had hazy memories of Lance and Hunk gently directing him through showering, but he was here. So far, he was here.

Lance sighed, gently patting Shiro's chest and frowning at the loss of muscle he could feel there. He had cracked a lot of jokes about how much exercise Shiro did, about his ability to hold a six-pack without flexing and the way he'd once bounced a grape up high enough off his pec to catch it in his mouth, but the flesh beneath the tight shirt was soft. He turned his face up slightly, only able to see the edge of the black paladin's jaw where it hung over his hairline. “Hey, Shiro?” He waited—hours, weeks, decades—until the older man leaned back to look down at him properly. “I love him, too.”

It was a second span of forever until the corner of Shiro's eye twitched. Not 'loved,' because being dead didn't stop what they felt for him, but 'love,' an open acknowledgement that still pouring out that feeling for someone who could never feel it again felt unsettlingly like bleeding out. Shiro felt something inside of him shift, but he couldn't look away from all the emotions he couldn't express swimming in Lance's drowning blue gaze. They had always understood each other, in ways the others couldn't comprehend—in ways they would never wish on anyone else. This grief was no different.

The kiss tasted like tears, Lance tasted like fruit juice and salt, and when his hand came up to cup the back of Shiro's head, the touch was excruciatingly gentle. He started to pull back, and Lance's fingers dug into his scalp, pulling a quiet hiss from his throat as he felt the small crescents of the blue paladin's nails leave impressions in the scarred skin. He pushed back against Lance's mouth, settling his hands on the younger man's shoulders to guide him onto his back and twining their legs comfortably. He reached for the belt on the fuzzy blue robe, pulling apart the knot and pushing open the heavy fabric, leaving Lance to shiver for a moment in the cool air of the ship before settling himself down against him and trapping the swiftly-escaping body heat with his chest.

Lance saw sparks, draping his other arm over Shiro's shoulder and sliding the hand on his head up to tug at the back of his hair. He huffed when Shiro didn't let up on the kiss, tugged again, then bit Shiro's lip. He drew in a sharp breath when the older man growled and leaned away. “Air,” he reminded Shiro quietly. He even managed a faint smile when the Japanese man grumbled and turned his attentions to Lance's neck instead.

Shiro's mouth was warm, sliding over the quickening pulse just under Lance's jaw, but he still seemed detached from the moment, as though even the act of foreplay was something he would just carry through without noticing. Lance would have none of that—he hooked his ankles around Shiro's legs and rolled, spilling them both onto the floor with Shiro underneath him trying to catch his breath. He shifted his weight, straddling the older man's hips and leaning down to kiss him again, humming in the back of his throat when Shiro returned the kiss with a little more interest.

His right hand regained its grip in Shiro's hair, and he suppressed a shiver when the older man's prosthetic hand slid up to his hip, leaving a trail of cooler skin in its wake. “You know,” he said quietly against Shiro's mouth, “I know you're perfectly capable of keeping that damned thing skin temperature.” He felt the faintest tic of a smile against his lips before the black paladin lowered his head to nibble at his neck.

“Keith likes it cold.” Shiro's breath hitched as Lance leaned back sharply. He couldn't quite raise his eyes to the younger man's face. “I shouldn't--”

“You got that little shit to do temp play with you?! Unfair!” Lance pouted at him, but the words brought a faint smile to Shiro's lips for a fraction of a second. “I have always tried to get him to let me break out the ice and he acts like it's the worst thing anyone's ever suggested.”

The black paladin couldn't hold back a short laugh in the face of Lance's indignation. "Ice turns into water," he reminded the Cuban gently, "he is half catboy. Try chilled metal, instead, or one of those frozen fruit shapes if the Earth Store has any." When they kissed again, the thick grief was less, and it was Shiro's turn to tip his head back, to let Lance at his neck. He hissed when the younger paladin applied some suction. "Not too high up," he cautioned, "I actually mark, unlike some people."

"Bitch, bitch, bitch," Lance mumbled, but the heat of his mouth pulled away so that he could tug Shiro's shirt upward--he got distracted upon discovering that the older man had a pierced nipple, pausing with the shirt half over one scarred shoulder to stare at the gleaming bit of metal. "When--?"

"High school," Shiro tugged his shirt from Lance's hands and completed peeling it off, "lost a bet with Matt. He chose matching barbells as his pri--yah!" He flinched when Lance's mouth immediately dropped to his nipple, starting to curve his spine away and ending up with his nose buried in the Cuban's soft hair. He panted, trying to wipe the strands that caught on his tongue off on his lips, and letting out a quiet curse when Lance caught the bar between his teeth and tugged. “N—nhaa, no, don't that— _Lance_ goddamnit that will chip your teeth.”

The younger man pressed his lips back down against Shiro's chest to laugh, the action blowing a vibrating raspberry that made Shiro bite back a reflexive cackle. When he lifted his head, he caught the end of the bitten smile flashing over the black paladin's lips. “Just exactly how hard were you planning on pulling back, Shiro, that the piercing would chip my teeth? Do you understand--” He made a muffled noise of surprise as Shiro lunged forward to kiss him again, pushing him back and this time, pinning him to the floor. The kiss dragged on, and both men had sparks in their eyes when they pulled away. Lance gave Shiro a slightly dazed grin, to have it returned with a slightly predatory flicker of a smile, swiftly followed by a moment of deflating uncertainty. He bit his lip. “Shiro?”

As though caught somewhere he shouldn't be, Shiro snapped his dark gaze back into focus on Lance's face with a twitch of guilt and a resurgence of grief. “Keith would have hit me for not letting him breathe for that long,” he whispered raggedly, then shook his head sharply. “No,” he said, sharply, “I shouldn't--”

“Takashi,” Lance interrupted him gently, brushing the long, wiry white hair out of his face, “just tell me what you need me to do and say.” The dawning realization followed by horror and then slow, self-loathing acceptance crawling over Shiro's face earned the older paladin a slow roll of Lance's narrow hips beneath his.

Shuddering,—partly in revulsion at what he was agreeing to and partly because Lance had managed to get him decently worked up already—Shiro lowered his head and nuzzled his lips against the blue paladin's ear. “He doesn't call me by my first name,” he rasped, “not even part of it.” He pushed the robe aside further, trailing his prosthetic fingers down the curve of Lance's ribs and rocking down slightly at the shrill gasp the cold metal pulled from his lips. He lowered his hand, catching Lance's ear between his teeth briefly and growling at the muffled mewl it caused. “He calls me 'Daddy.'” He cupped his cold hand around Lance's erection and stifled a snort at the mildly confused squeak. He pulled back a little to squint down at Lance, who stared up at him with wide blue eyes.

The silence dragged on for a long moment, and Shiro was about to force a laugh, to offer it up as a joke, when Lance flicked his eyes down, then back up, and asked in a meek, shy little voice, “what do you want me to do, Daddy?”

“Fuck,” popped out of his mouth without preamble, the innocence that Lance managed to exude sending a flare of heat straight down his spine and into his balls. He pushed himself back a little, cupping Lance's cheek and brushing his thumb under one big, drowning blue eye. “Oh, there you are, sport. Come here,” he leaned down to touch his nose to Lance's, giving him a warm and paternal smile, “tell Daddy how much you missed him.”

Lance's face lit up with his sudden smile, and he threw his arms back up around Shiro's neck without prompting, looping his legs up around Shiro's waist in the same motion. “Oh, Daddy, I was so worried! I didn't know where you went or what was going on outside, I could only stay behind the couch and wait for you to come back.” He dropped his eyes again, chewing on the corner of his mouth. “I didn't make a sound, like you said. Did I do good, Daddy? Is that why you're back?” He lifted his gaze again, the drowning blue full of hope.

“You did so well, baby boy,” Shiro whispered, placing a chaste peck on Lance's lips, “of course I came back for you. I couldn't go anywhere without you, sport. I just had to make sure the coast was clear.” His smile deepened, and he turned his head to brush his lips along Lance's jaw line as he shifted his hips down into him. “I didn't want them to hear us.”

“To hear us do what?” Lance asked, a little breathless.

The black paladin pulled back slightly, giving him a slightly crooked little smile before rolling his hips down. He watched Lance's very convincing innocent face pull into an equally convincing mask of surprise, before those teasing lips pulled into a shy-but-eager smile.

“Oh,” the younger man whispered, squirming deliciously under him, “h-here, Daddy? Right now?” He slid one hand down Shiro's chest, lightly tugging at his piercing. He dug his fingers into the older paladin's ribs when Shiro all but ground against him, letting his head fall back with a short cry.

“Here, sport,” Shiro confirmed, sliding his metal hand up the back of one of Lance's thighs and enjoying the high gasp it pulled from the younger man's throat, “and absolutely now. Do you remember how your Daddy likes it?” He almost laughed at the vague flicker of annoyance in the back of Lance's eyes, but admired that his expression only shifted to slightly reluctant chagrin.

“I-I was so scared, Daddy, I...I guess I'm still a little scared and I forgot. Will you,” again that bite at the corner of his mouth, the big blue eyes dropped, then peered hopefully up through thick lashes, “will you tell me, instead?” He pressed his face a little closer, tightening the arm around Shiro's neck to rasp in his ear. “I like it when you tell me what you want.”

The older man felt his grin widen, and leaned down to put another small kiss on Lance's lips. “What a good boy, you do remember,” he purred, dropping his head down to plant a kiss on Lance's shoulder and noting the Cuban's delighted shudder, “now tell me, my beautiful boy, do you still keep the slippery stuff in your pocket like I told you?”

Another flash of deeply-buried annoyance—it might have been amusement—and Lance pulled a small bottle of lube from the pocket of his robe and held it up with a sheepish smile. “Sorry it's almost empty, Daddy,” he continued in that same sweet tone, “but I--” he dropped his eyes, and Shiro got the impression he'd have dug his toe into the floor if they'd been standing, “I like to touch myself when you're not here. Inside.” His voice had dropped to a whisper so quiet that the black paladin had to strain to hear him.

Shiro felt his entire body shudder, and it took everything he had not to let out another 'fuck.' Instead, he twitched his mouth up into what he knew was a predatory smile—even for the situation—and scraped his teeth over Lance's shoulder. “Oh, is that what you get up to when Daddy isn't watching, baby? Naughty things? I should make you beg for that.” He took the lube from the younger man and sat back on his knees, admiring the image of the Cuban sprawled out on his robe with his legs around Shiro's waist, shivering from the sudden loss of contact. He rubbed the lube thoroughly over his metal fingers, then slid one between Lance's ass cheeks, revelling in the shrill gasp the younger paladin couldn't contain.

Lance followed the sound with a high whine, squirming. “Daddy, it's coooooooold,” he pouted up at Shiro, then arced his back with a swiftly-muffled curse when Shiro's response was to push the chill finger into him without preamble. He pushed back against the intrusion as he relaxed his spine, moaning as Shiro's finger slid in to the base. He met Shiro's eyes again, lower lip trembling. “A-are you mad at me?”

The look earned him another finger, pushing a sharp cry from his mouth and leaving him writhing while he gasped for air. Shiro watched with satisfaction, running the palm of his flesh-and-blood hand over Lance's right thigh. “No, sport, it's okay,” he leaned back down, leisurely pumping his fingers in and out of Lance while the Cuban whined and squirmed beneath him, “Daddy's not mad. That's good, that you touch yourself like that. That means that Daddy won't hurt you when he does this.” He added a third finger, smiling benignly down at Lance and the small shriek that tore out of his throat. “But you still have to beg.”

“Fffu—mm, Daddy, oh Daddy, please,” Lance tightened his legs again, trying to pull Shiro closer to him, “Daddy, Daddy please I want--” he caught Shiro's tilted head and raised eyebrow, and bit his lip, lowering his eyes again, then managing, “Daddy please, I want you inside of me. I want your thick, hot cock inside of me, Daddy, please. Please fuck me, Daddy, so hard I can't feel scared or alone or anything any more.” He saw Shiro close his eyes briefly at the words, and grabbed his warm hand, lacing their fingers together. “Fuck me so hard it feels like you're always inside me, Daddy, please,” he whispered, and was rewarded with the flash of a smile.

“Good boy,” Shiro huffed, struggling to get his pants off, roll on a condom, and lube up his shaft all at the same time. He felt Lance twitch and shiver under him, and paused, lifting his head for a moment. “That's my good boy,” he repeated, watching the way the blue paladin closed his eyes and bit his lip. He stifled another smile and brought Lance's hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the younger man's fingers. “Wrap your legs around me, baby,” he coached, humming when Lance obeyed with a whine at the shift in angle of the fingers still inside him, “deep breath in, gooood boy, now,” he pulled his fingers out and guided the tip of his erection to the rim of Lance's entrance, “exhale, baby.”

The younger man let his breath out shakily as Shiro slid into him, but caught the breath halfway when Shiro proved bigger than he'd anticipated. His eyes popped open, but Shiro had stopped, reaching up to stroke his hair with his warm hand as he waited for Lance to adjust. They exchanged a brief, knowing smile, and Lance let out the other half of his breath with a quiet, “thank you, Daddy. I guess nothing can really prepare me for having you inside me.”

Shiro's smile softened, and he twined his fingers in Lance's hair. “I know, baby, it's okay. Daddy's sorry if he hurt you. That's the last thing in the world that I want.” He dropped his head to kiss Lance slowly and sweetly, but lifted his head at the younger man's muffled laugh. “What is it?”

Lance pursed his lips and shook his head like a child with a secret, and only giggled when Shiro tugged at his hair. “I bet I can guess what the first thing in the world you want right now is,” he snickered, then rolled his hips closer to the older man's, gasping as the action pushed more of Shiro's length into him. He worked his jaw, small, hitching whines pushing out of his throat as he worked himself down until Shiro's balls settled against his ass. “Oohhhh fuck, Daddy, you're so big. How could I forget you're so big? Daddy, oh, Daddy, don't wait for me to adjust, please. Please just fuck me, Daddy. Fuck me until I can't breathe.”

“Oh, baby, you're such a good boy,” Shiro breathed, listening to the hitch in Lance's breathing and feeling him tighten slightly, “Daddy's little angel.” He pressed his mouth to Lance's again, pulling out and pushing back in with slow deliberation. He felt his eyes slide closed, lost himself in the flex and give of muscles underneath and around him, in the long legs around his waist and the whining against his neck when they couldn't comfortably kiss at the pace.

Lance put one hand over his head on the tile, trying to push back against the force he could feel was starting to slide them across the floor. He shivered when Shiro crooned, “good boy, my good boy,” into his ear, tightening his legs and whimpering, which only made Shiro thrust harder and bite at his shoulder. “Oh, fuck, shit oh, fuck, _Daddy_.” His ears were starting to ring, and he realized the blur around the edges of his vision weren't just from Shiro bouncing his head off the floor. “Daddy, Daddy I'm—oh _fuck Daddy I'm going to come._ ”

He could barely understand the growled, “me too, baby,” in his ear, but the message was clear enough when Shiro wrapped his arm around Lance's waist to thrust into him harder. That was enough. Lance barely felt his head smack into the floor as his spine spasmed and he streaked both of their stomachs in sticky white.

Shiro was two thrusts behind, shuddering as he came and burying his face in the curve of Lance's neck with a harsh, ragged breath of Keith's name. The word felt like a razor in Lance's gut, but he reached up to run shaky fingers through Shiro's hair. Long seconds passed, and then he lifted his head. “Oh my fuck are you seriously planking over me post-orgasm right now?”

“I outweigh you by a bit,” Shiro rasped, “no one likes to be crushed, Lance.”

“I can't even count the number of ways that sentence is inaccurate, but this is really hot.” Lance flashed him a smile when Shiro lifted his head to look at him, brushing damp hair off his forehead. “Hey. You don't have to cry, but you do have to be here, okay? No more leaving your ass on the couch while your brain runs and hides.”

Shiro gave him a faint responding smile and pressed a kiss to the bite on his shoulder. “Deal. And--”

“I swear if you apologize I'm going to have Hunk cook you for breakfast,” Lance informed him shortly.

“I was going to say that you have really weird leadership techniques but they work for you.” The black paladin laughed as Lance pulled him down for a longer kiss.

 


End file.
